


Belomi, beja gonot (Bellamy, please leave)

by spacecleavage



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: 2x16 spoilers, F/M, Reunion Fic, but not really, i have no idea where it is going at the moment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:45:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacecleavage/pseuds/spacecleavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bellamy finds Clarke again, it's not what he expected</p>
            </blockquote>





	Belomi, beja gonot (Bellamy, please leave)

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so I wrote this to get my feels out  
> On tumblr - http://thatweirdparamedicstudent.tumblr.com/post/113422232477/belomi-beja-gonot-bellamy-please-leave

When he finds her it’s nothing like either of them expect. She is crouched behind an old statue, which was no doubt of someone important before the bomb dropped, she is wearing clothes she had sewn together judging by the stitches, her hair is braided down her back and her face is covered in mud but Bellamy recognises her. He would know her face anywhere, those haunting blue eyes peering out at him curiously.

“Clarke?” his voice sounds hoarse and it feels like something inside of him is tearing but mending at the same time.  
She moves away from him, crouching low like she still hopes that he won’t see her and as he steps towards her, fear flicks up in her eyes and she crouches lower and draws out a small knife (Raven’s he recognises, the one she killed Finn with, the one still encrusted with his blood).

“Clarke?” he frowns, there is something about her that is wrong. He had last seen her eight months ago, her head held high as she walked away from camp. He could still replay that memory in his mind, the soft wind that had blown her scent of sweat and blood to his nose, the sound of families reuniting of children crying and being happy. The sweat that clung to him even with the bracing cold that turned their breaths into mists. The words he had given her, the forgiveness, the moment he almost begged her to stay. The words she had returned, ‘I bear it so they don’t have to’ the way they had felt like a physical blow to him. The softness of her lips against his cheek, her hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer and the way her hair had felt. He could recall it all and those words, those fucking words that everyone hated ‘May we meet again’. He’d nearly grabbed her at that point and refused to let her go, to make her face what she had done, what they had done. But in a way he understood, he knew she needed to get away, to leave these people behind so that she could mend.

But looking at her now that had not happened, at least not the way he had imagined it happening. He wondered how long she had been alone? The whole time with no one else? No other voices apart from the one’s that haunted her.

“No,” she muttered, backing away from him again. He could see the recognition in her eyes as she stared at him.

“Clarke, please,” he whispered quietly, his hand held out for her (where his gun had gone he did not know).

“No Klok,” she replied back, using Trigedasleng and then she fled, running into the forest and Bellamy followed. Trees rushed by him, landmarks he didn’t know but Clarke kept going and so did he. Even when his lungs were burning and his feet aching with every step, he kept going because he wasn’t going to lose her again, not again.  
After an eternity (he’d never been more thankful for Lincoln’s training) they finally stopped and Bellamy saw, Bellamy saw everything.

Clarke stood in the middle of a group of people, all children by the look of it, some so young they were still in diapers, others nine or ten years old. All with their faces painted with Grounder paint and staring up at Clarke as she reached around to touch all of them. Beyond them he could see the opening to a cave and judging by the fire pits surrounding the entrance, this was their home.

Bellamy could see their smiles as they looked up at her, grubby fingers touching her clothes and reaching up to tug on her braid and God, Clarke.

He must have made a noise because all the faces turned to him at once.

“Belomi, gonot,” Clarke’s voice sounded guttural and so very different to his memory of it She stepped so she was in front of the bulk of the children. The children who were hiding behind her, clinging to her and one another.

“Clarke, I’m not leaving,” he answered in Trigedasleng. “Do you know how long I have been looking for you?” He didn’t move any closer, though that was all his body was screaming at him to do so. He waited, like he would Octavia, or Monty, or Harper or any of the remaining group, he waited for them to come to him, for them to relax.

“Gonot,” she said again, the blade out in front of her, as a defense, a shield. He could see some of the children begin to peek out around her, and it was then he noticed. They were branwada, children who had been deformed by the radiation, cast out from Trigedakru villages.

“Heya,” he called to them, smiling the same way he used to with O when she wanted another pony ride.

“Chon yu bilaik?” one of the older called back, he was quickly silenced by Clarke but Bellamy could still see him. He was missing an ear on his left side and the skin was stretched too tight over his face. He was also wearing the jacket that had been Clarke’s, it looked a little dirtier but really no worse for wear. 

“I like Belomi kom skikru,” he smiled at the boy. The whispers that started after his name gave him pause, the way they looked at one another wide eyed.

“Belomi, beja gonot,” she pointed in the direction that they had come from. Back towards the camp and all the people there.

“I will not lose you again,” he said solidly, this time he took the step forward. The hand that fell on his shoulder made him twist and then he saw it.

A monster, his head was malformed like he’d had too much skin and it had hardened. The skin around his eyes, nose and mouth was too much but the actual body parts were the same size as a normal person. His back was hunched and he looked like a monster from one of the horror movies they used to have on the Ark.

He never saw the club coming down, only the blue of Clarke’s eyes as his fell shut.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I spent a lot of time on the wiki page for Trigedasleng making sure I got the words right and yep.  
> I am going to continue this but I have a couple of other things to finish first
> 
> Tell me what you think of this (the kudos are great but comments make me want to dance around in circles, also you know, write more of the fic)


End file.
